Man Who Sold The World
by VanDouselheim
Summary: Bugs Bunny with a Kalashnikov.


The cycle begins anew and like any other, I turn an angry eye upon my kingdom. Back lit by the bleeding eye of god. A rumble begins in my esophagus and rattles my fillings. Refraction of illumination on broken glass. A familiar sense of dread fills my pores and the aches and pains of my past such that they are wrap me in a sensual embrace.

What is yellow and can't swim?

An excavator.

Did you find that funny? No? No no no no no?

Well, neither did the driver.

Ha

Role on snare drum.

Rage akin to tear gas, I breath it in. Inhale.

Exhale. Ahhhhhh

Nope, nadda. Normally kills them. Just dry today.

I live in the American Gardens Building on West 81st Street on the 11th floor. My name today is, ahh, on its way.

With a growl and one or two stumbles I make my way to my cosmetics. Who I was in the ocean of time stares back at me. I will never recognize this mask. Doppelganger. Large eyebrows upon a scarred forehead, markings from a fist, a fish?

Ha

I use a straight razor and warm water to remove excessive facial hair. Have never enjoyed the mustache. Caterpillars on your lips. Only lumberjacks and serial pedophiles have a mustache. Embarrassment blossoms as I nick the edge of my upper lip. Involuntary twitch to blame but the color is to die for.

I fasten my swarovski yellow gold diamonds to my lower ear lobes. Needing some dark to contrast, my eye shadow layers over the bags and crows feet lessening the tired soccer mom look.

Cold old cold tickles

My face, why blood

Bleeding i'm

A whisper sounds

"Help me"

Excruciating crack twist my neck

I'm screaming pounding the mirror I saw a ghost

Phantasm fantastic in fantasy

Empty eyes saw me waiting for a hero begging

weak weak weak

I need nothing

Torrential plasma bloody blood I why am I panic

I need

Medicine

Medicine

Mine where...is...it...

"Jonny."

There, here, faithful, always, can bribe, coerce toooorrture but can't never ever replace him.

"Give, me, my."

Glass and jewelry embedded in hands now. Flailing of limbs accentuate chorus of shattering glass. How much further can it shatter until at final atomic make up? Fluoxetine bottle dangles in face, too many in bottle.

"How long since your last dose?" Voice resonates, foreign? Less Vic Damone more shrill, I fall in defeated pile. Spilling onto my floor.

He says something, my witness, watches with the devotion of an apostle. Tug in brain sing songs "Two in the morning, two at night."

A fist collides makes impact with temple. My fist makes impacting impact focus focus FOCUS

Pills pills pills straighten me out take some Alprazolam and Oxycodone for good measure, small dose I promise. He says something, I don't listen.

He plays my songs, Der Ring Des Nibelungen. Begins reciting my numbers. Fibonacci sequence.

0-1-1-2-3-5-8-13-21-34-55-89-144-233

He continues on, the blood has clotted, my medicine kicks in.

Screaming stops.

"Wow. Jonny Jonny, I think I like you. You're looking good, been working out? You could probably use a little sun. But hey, who am I to talk?"

Giggles ensue, been told in past sound is off putting, grating, fine by me.

Balmain suit laid out for me. All my toys await: cards, Fairbairn Sykes knife, Colt Gold Cup Trophy 1911, lipstick, purple sharpie.

Dressed to impress, an Edwardian day suit, my dandy cane in hand.

Gaze into remains of mirror, fragmented child is gone, meet with a pale fire.

Collections of Hieronymus Bosch adorn walls as we leave. Bid adieu to the old you, we strike out, start the day anew.

"Mr. J, what would you like to do today?"

"Feelin' evil today Jonny Jonny, let's kill some people."

 **A/N**

 **Unlike my other story which existed as a more stream of consciousnesses platform, this will be an expansive tale with a specific end goal in mind. I would like to the user Cusith for the inspiration to continue writing, their stuff kicks all the ass, when my previous attempt did not exactly take off. While I used Ravings of the Madman as a experimental therapeutic release, this will indeed have actual plot. Hopefully this can entertain those interested.**

 **I tend to write very different than many other content creators on this sight. My story is filled to the brim with easter eggs and snipets not just from batman comics but stories involving mental illness in general. There are plenty of nuances that I have been told went clear over peoples heads and I will break down the ones in this chapter: My rendition of the joker is based quite heavily on my own suffering of mental disorder. He has schizo effective disorder, OCD, DID, complex PTSD, an anxiety disorder, and major depressive disorder. He was at one point prescribed Fluoxetine as an anti depressive and Xanax as an anti anxiety.**

 **He is very much a narcissist with what I believe an extremely fixated yet contradictory view of nihilism and religion in general. Completely berserk, he lacks any and all understanding of social norms. His description of the apartment is a direct quotation from Bret Easton Ellis' American Psycho. The twitch that causes his panic attack is because the thought of pedophilia is a major trigger for him, as referenced in the chapter "Sacrificial Lamb" of my previous story. Many mannerisms and quotations come from the Joker stand alone graphic novel by Brian Azzarello, and expansive quotation from all of his appearances in DC. The title of the story is of the same David Bowie song; a man is confronted by the ghost of he thought he was.**

 **If any one expresses interest in explanations of my previous story, which I really must say massively increases in quality beginning with chapter 5 "Godforsaken", I will do so. Until then, I look forward to any and all critiques and requests to write smut that will go unanswered, thank you very much.**


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